I Need No Hero
by the sixth turk
Summary: Basch has always been Ashe's knight in shining armor. I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX - a rise and a fall. The strongest bonds leave pieces to pick up after they're broken. Alternate storyline; completed!
1. Chapter 1

**I**  
**beginnings**_  
- a bond is forged -_

"Now now, Princess. That is _not _how a lady conducts herself." The knight doesn't sound terribly annoyed though his words are sternly spoken.

Ashe ducks her head and schools her features into a properly contrite expression. "I apologize," she says, very properly. She sneaks a look up at the knight. A slow, small grin spreads across her face. "But don't you think that I should learn how to fight and take care of myself? After all," she does a quick little hop-step across the corridor, "in all the stories, the princess always gets kidnapped and the hero has to come rescue her. Wouldn't it be better if she could rescue herself?"

Despite himself, the knight chuckles. Setting the helmet he is carrying under his arm on the floor, he bends down on one knee so he is at eye-level with her.

"So you are correct, my Lady Ashe," says Basch fon Ronsenburg. "Though I intend to make certain that you shall never have to do so."

A small cloud passes across her face and her brows draw together. Smart as she might be, Ashe is still only a child of eight. And right now, she appears to be dangerously close to pouting.

With a quick glance down the corridor, Basch notes the convenient lack of other people. He stands, picking up his helmet again and holding out his hand to Ashe. "Come, Princess. We've an errand to take care of."

She sighs, but consents to place her small hand in his strong, tanned fingers.

He leans down close to her ear and whispers without moving his lips. "I'll let you hold the sword later if you behave."

Ashe smiles then and nearly drags him down the hallway, her white tunic flapping and a light in her eyes.

x-x-x

**II  
determination**_  
- a bond is strengthened -_

"Now, now, Princess. That is _not _how a lady conducts herself." Basch tries to sound annoyed, stern. It is one of his duties to make sure that fourteen-year-old Ashe, heir to the throne of Dalmasca, properly understands the rules of etiquette that go along with the title.

She can be so headstrong that even he, seventeen years her senior, has trouble keeping her in line at times. He swallows the urge to laugh despite himself and works to keep the disapproving expression on his face.

Ashe looks at him, somewhat sheepish but nowhere near repentant. "You agreed with me," she reminds Basch.

"So I did," he consents. Before she can escape, he lifts a finger. He knows that look in her eyes too well now. "But when in circumstances such as these, you are expected to act in a manner befitting a princess. Which means at least attempting to look as if you haven't been practicing your swordfighting again."

Ashe looks down as if seeing herself for the first time. Her arms are bare and so are her legs to the knee. Bare feet are covered with dirt and her hands with scratches. Her clothes are worn, stained with sweat and red streaks of blood.

"I was not told that the ambassador from Nabradia was to visit today," she says, lifting her chin. As if that is somehow his fault.

Basch sighs. But he can sense that he will get no farther in this argument of theirs. "In the future, please at least attempt to keep up with your own social schedule," he tells her firmly. "You're fortunate that your skills in speech and diplomacy have saved you thus far from overt embarrassment."

Her eyebrows draw together and a faint blush of pink comes to her cheeks. "But I _had_ hoped to make a good impression,…"

_Ah. _Perhaps all hope for her is not lost, then. _Something _has gotten through her usual impenetrable armor of self-assurance.

Basch pats her briskly on the shoulders. "Let us forget this for the moment. Get yourself cleaned up and properly presented to your family's distinguished guests."

He doesn't have to bend quite so far to whisper in her ear this time. "Your footwork leaves much to be desired. We must remedy that in good time. Perhaps after dinner has settled…"

But her reaction is the same. With a bright smile that turns her eyes into two sparkling pools of blue, she grabs his hand and drags him hurriedly from the chamber, ignoring his entreaties for decorum.

x-x-x

**III  
jealousy**_  
- a bond is tested -_

_Now, now, Princess. That is_ not_ how a lady conducts herself._

It is the first time in awhile that he hasn't had to say it aloud. Ashe is capable of minding her manners...when she wants to. Basch stews silently, keeping his face in a mask of indifference. He has often complained about the cumbersome Dalmascan military helmets, but he wishes for one now.

He wants to be happy that his patience, sorely tried by the stubborn girl for years, has finally paid off. He wants to be happy that Ashe has finally blossomed into a princess, has finally accepted the role and title with grace. But he can't.

Basch carefully watches her, moving among her family's guests with ease. Talking, nodding, a smile here and a small wave there, she looks completely in her element. The royal delegation from Nabradia has come again, ostensibly for negotiations. Basch keeps an eye on her.

A young man moves up beside Ashe, waiting politely for her attention. When she finishes her conversation of the moment and turns to greet him, Basch cannot suppress the flare of envy. Her eyes sparkle and her whole face is alight with a smile as she takes his hand and leads him to a delicately carved wooden couch to the side of the atrium.

For so long, he has been the only one to see Ashe light up like that, the only one who would allow her a reprieve from being 'Her Highness, the Lady Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca'.

It seems that he has been supplanted. Basch wars within himself. Part of him is so proud of his girl for cultivating alliances and conducting herself as a lady should. The other part of him is seething fiercely with the urge to protect what is his. His face remains immobile, set into a fixed neutrality. She is like his sister, a delicate flower to be cherished.

"Captain fon Ronsenburg!"

A voice startles him out of his musings. Ashe is standing in front of him, her hand – he notes irritably – still in the young man's.

"My Lady Ashelia," he says calmly.

"May I present His Highness Rasler Heios Nabradia," she says formally. There is a faint hint of her old cheeky nature beneath the words, and for some reason, Basch is heartened. He should have known that no amount of royal pomp and circumstance can ever truly push aside rascal-Ashe, the little imp-girl who badgered him into giving her fighting lessons.

He bows deeply to the prince. He is back in control of his emotions, for the moment.

"Rasler, this is Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, knight in the Dalmascan forces. He's been my loyal protector and guardian since I was quite small," Ashe tells the prince.

Nabradia smiles at Basch. There is genuine respect in his voice as he says, "A pleasure to meet you. I've heard many great things about you."

Basch almost asks, "What things?" and firmly restrains himself. He can hear Ashe's voice in his head: _"Now, now, Captain. That is not how a knight conducts himself."_

He manages to give all the correct responses until Ashe drags the prince away, eyes sparkling. Only military discipline prevents him from sagging against the wall.

Basch is aware of the rumors, the ones that are whispering of an alliance between Dalmasca and Nabradia. He is aware that such an alliance will likely mean Ashe – his precious Ashe – is to marry Rasler Heios Nabradia.

Abruptly, he brushes aside his moment of self-pity. If Ashe is happy, then so too shall he be. He recognizes a warrior's spirit within the young Nabradia, a gentle spirit of great strength. And he will treasure her. Basch smiles ironically to himself, thinking of his earlier comparison. Ashe has never been a fragile flower, has never really needed protecting.

"Yes," he murmurs quietly to himself, "she will be the one stories are written about. The princess who rescued herself from danger."

x-x-x

**IV  
misunderstanding**_  
- a bond is broken -_

"Now, now, Princess. That is _not _how a lady conducts herself."

"Be quiet!" she cries, her face dark with anger. The familiar words, coming from someone else, sound harsh and mocking. She composes herself with difficulty. "I apologize, Captain…"

He interrupts her. "It's just Vossler now, my Lady."

"If I am to be called Princess, then I claim my right to call you Captain," she replies, somewhat snappishly.

Vossler shifts on his feet, stoic in his silence.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"It's all right, my Lady. You've been handed the roughest of these changing times, I fear." He gives her a sympathetic smile. "I take my leave."

She nods and watches him leave the room, armor clanking with every step. With another sigh, Ashe crosses to the door and shuts it firmly. There is no lock, but she knows that no one will disturb her. Only Vossler and a few others know her true identity. To most, she is simply Amalia, just another victim of Archadia's war on the rest of Ivalice.

Ashe drops her head into her hands and lets the tears trickle through her fingers, wetting the golden ring she still wears. Rasler's death is still a cold knife in her heart. A marriage of politics it may have been, but the strength of her grief now only makes her realize how much she loved him.

Inexorably, her thoughts turn to _him. _Basch fon Ronsenburg, former knight of Dalmasca. Her protector. Her teacher. Her surrogate brother. His betrayal cuts deeply, hurts almost more than the death of her father.

Her eyes are red and scratchy, and she can feel salty blotches on her cheeks where tears have spilled. Swiping at her face, Ashe banishes her tears, banishes all feeling until there is only anger left. She is abandoned, but she will not do the same.

"I will hold this rage to my heart until I see the Empire brought to justice for what they have done to my nation…to me." She doesn't realize that she's spoken aloud until someone knocks at the door, asking if she's all right.

In an instant, she becomes Amalia. Not Ashe, stubborn Ashe full of white-hot rage. Just another freedom fighter with a general grudge against the Empire. "Fine, thank you!" she calls through the door.

She clenches her fists, willing herself under control, and picks up her sword belt. Ashe is assaulted by memories whenever she touches the weapon. But she is no longer the little girl who idolized her knight in shining armor.

Face resolute, heart cold and steady, Ashe straps her sword to her hip and pushes open the door. There is work to be done.

x-x-x

**V  
reconciliation**_  
- a bond is reforged -_

"Now, now, Princess. That is _not _how a lady conducts herself." The words are as stern as ever, despite the red handprint gracing his cheek.

"After what you've done! How dare you! You're supposed to be dead!" Ashe snaps, her hand still raised. She is nearly overcome with joy at seeing him alive, and she sternly clamps down on the feeling. No longer will she claim him as a brother. But the anger and hatred that come so easily when she thinks of the Empire do not accompany thoughts of former Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg.

"There are things that must be dealt with in time," he says, meeting her gaze squarely. "I sincerely hope you have kept up with your studies of the sword."

Unconsciously, her hand drops to the weapon belted at her side. "I have, yes," she says coolly.

"Good," replies Basch, briskly. "And now, since you were always so intent on having the princess rescue herself, I await your view on the situation. Proving my innocence shall have to wait until later."

Ashe gives him a sideways glance. His face is as impassive as ever. _Surely he isn't joking? _Her heart thaws, just a bit. She cannot forget that Rasler and her father have died because of this man, but neither can she forget the man beneath the deeds.

"Very well," she says, crisply, as a princess should. "I propose that we dispatch these Imperials with all haste. In the name of justice and retribution for wrongs. I will not stand immobilized by fear and grief while my nation suffers."

He smiles with more than a hint of sadness, but also with pride. "Now, now, Princess. That is _not_ how a lady conducts herself." Seeing her about to protest, he holds up a finger.

"But it _is _the proper manner for a freedom fighter."


	2. Chapter 2

**VI **  
**journey_  
_**_- a bond is explored -_

_Now, now, Princess. That is _not_ how a lady conducts herself._

Even when he is silent – indeed, when he is not even in her presence – Basch's words still echo in her mind.

Ashe ignores the warning and sputters another curse, just another in the string she has been muttering through the entire day. The Estersand is full of shifting sand and sharp rocks. Her toes continue to find every single one to smash themselves against.

She stubs her foot again, hard, against a scrubby bush. It does not bend or break, and is just as painful as the rocks. Ashe stomps harder in the sand than she needs to and directs her harsh words at the plant. She realizes suddenly that her tirade has increased in volume. With a blush, she quiets and sneaks a glance in Basch's direction.

He is silently slogging through the sand at the tail end of their small procession. The street rat is out in front, no doubt eager to get on with an adventure in the way only naïve children can be. The sky pirate with the silver tongue strides along behind him, next to his viera partner. He keeps pace with her despite the difference in height.

Basch offers a helping hand to the blonde girl – Penelo is her name, Ashe remembers - straggling behind him, catching her arm before she can trip and fall yet again. A gallant knight and chivalrous man, as always. He catches Ashe's eye and gives her a polite nod. She whips her head around and concentrates harder on where she is walking, not comfortable with the icy formality, or with his scrutiny.

They go on and on for what feels like miles (and probably is; certainly they've walked farther than Ashe cares to think about), under the hot sun, whipped by the wind and scoured by the sand. Supposedly the boy, Vaan, knows where they are headed, but even after being raised to tolerance Ashe still has trouble trusting a street rat. He is only an orphan from Lowtown, so far below her in status that he may as well be a grain of sand on the ground.

Sternly, Ashe shakes her head before Basch's words can invade her head again. _I _know _that's not how a lady is supposed to conduct herself, _she snaps at the little voice in her mind. She watches Vaan's back for a minute, watching how he doggedly pushes onward. _He _did _save my life. I should be grateful for that, at least. _

A bitter sigh escapes her lips. Even a street rat has more status than those counted among the dead. Like her. It galls Ashe to be thought weak enough to commit suicide, but the freedom gained in anonymity serves her purposes. And, were it not for the timely intervention of Vaan and his unlikely band of cohorts, she likely _would_ be dead at the hands of the Imperials.

_Yes. A little more respect for these people is in order. Besides, they are citizens of Dalmasca, and I'm its princess. So it is my duty to act as a lady should._

Ashe plows forward through the sand, one foot at a time, still finding all the rocks with her toes. But now at least she has a fresh resolve and determination, and the need to curse everything in sight has passed.

She glances at Basch again. He is looking her way already and gives her a small smile, the one he always gave her in childhood when she finally deigned to obey.

_How does he know? How does he _always _know? Never mind. See here, Captain fon Ronsenburg – I'm acting like a lady should. _

**x-x-x**

**VII **  
**confrontation_  
_**_- a bond is realized -_

"Now, now, Princess. That is _not_ how a lady conducts herself."

Ashe bridles at the words. The Imperials are brutal and military, the Judges even more so, but their utterly pompous attitude is without a doubt their worst vice. She can see Vaan's mouth working silently, his jaw clenching and unclenching, expression wavering between shock and anger. Undoubtedly the former is due to the revelation of her true status, while the latter can likely be attributed to the humility of their capture.

Despite the warning, she continues to wrestle with the guards who have dragged her here, onto the bridge of the massive Archadian dreadnaught _Leviathan_. Their grip is firm and their feet immovable, but she tries anyway. Meekly giving up is not Ashe's way.

"Please, Princess," the judge sneers. "Save us this pointless waste of time and release it into our keeping." His features are hidden behind a mask, the words tinny and muffled, but there is no mistaking the disdainful glee in his voice, nor the way he slurs Ashe's title.

There is a small movement at her elbow. Without looking, Ashe can tell that it is Basch, stepping up to stand beside her as he has done so often throughout her life. She cannot quite quell the rush of relief she feels at his presence.

"Do not presume to speak for Her Highness' wishes," he says, voice not icy like the Judge's, but imperturbable and solid. "Her conduct is unimpeachable, which is more than can be said for yours. And you have no right to demand that which rightfully belongs to Her Highness."

The judge laughs. The short bark cracks through the air like a whip. "Enough with the pretty words," he snaps, extending a hand arrogantly toward Ashe. All traces of benevolent goodwill, however false, have disappeared. "It will not go well for you, I am afraid, should you decide to withhold the nethicite you carry."

Basch opens his mouth to speak again. He does not even take a breath to begin before a soldier backhands an armored gauntlet into his face.

Penelo gasps. Balthier's eyes narrow despite the honey dripping from his tone: "Well, I suppose that's the most efficient way to shut someone up now, isn't it?" Ashe just feels sick.

A thin trickle of blood wells up from the gash on Basch's cheek. He does not reach up to wipe it away. His face is still wearing the same expression.

For no reason she can fathom, Ashe feels tears stinging at her eyelids. _Don't be silly! _she thinks angrily, blinking hard. The sight of blood is not unfamiliar, and she has worked to harden herself against unnecessary emotions. _Apparently I still can't quite let go of the good captain despite my best efforts to do so._

Her mouth opens and words emerge unbidden, pushed out by the swelling bubble of hurt and anger in her stomach.

"Yes, I can see, and have seen, what happens when the will of the great Imperial war machine is crossed." Out of the corner of her eye, Ashe sees Balthier handing a clean handkerchief to Penelo, who moves up beside Basch to wipe the blood from his face. The soldiers standing guard let her. Ashe knows they do so not out of charity, but rather from the surprising power of an innocent face. She has used it herself in the past. But trembly lower lips and tear-filled eyes will get her nowhere here.

Putting a hint of steel in her voice to match the iron in her spine, Ashe says, "What will you part with for want of the stone? Your armies? Your fleets? Your rank and status as a Judge, perhaps?"

"More than that," comes the reply. Quickly, no hesitation. Almost as if he has been expecting the question. "For the nethicite, I offer to you…the freedom of Dalmasca."

For a moment, Ashe is stunned. Incredible hope wars with crushing cynicism.

The silence is broken by the sound of laughter.

Basch laughs in the grip of his captors. The sound is merry in its mockery, but his face is not. It is bitter and drawn, written with pain and difficult memories. Ashe wonders what might have happened to scar him so deeply.

"The freedom of a country for a shard of nethicite. Strange terms you set out. Stranger still would be the keeping of such a promise." Addressing Ashe, he says, "My lady, have you forgotten already the tragedy of Nabudis and the Midlight Shard? The words of this Judge are false, poisonous. Do not be swayed by your patriotism for Dalmasca, or you will deliver your beloved willingly into the hands of the enemy."

_He is already in the hands of the enemy._

Ashe's eyes widen, and her face feels hot. _Where did that thought come from? _The face in her mind is not Rasler the lover, nor her father the sire, but that of Basch fon Ronsenburg, the older brother she has never had.

"Foolish," she mutters. She is through with idolizing knights in shining armor. Basch has already carried away a piece of her heart, and she is not about to let him take another. She builds up the walls around it, resolves to keep it isolated and solitary. It cannot be wounded again if no one can reach it.

Ashe turns away, faces the Judge instead of Basch's earnest and worried face.

"A lady," she says, spitting out the words as if she can scorch the arrogant Imperial with their acidity, "does not strike bargains with coward, negotiating what cannot be given for a fool's price. My answer…is no."

The Judge raises a hand. "Very well. Since you are loath to hand over the Dawn Shard, I find myself forced to take it from you." He drops his hand. Soldiers march through the bridge doors, hands on the swords at their sides. "And I shall personally see to it that Dalmasca becomes nothing but another pit of ruins and Mist for your stubbornness."

Ashe's blood turns to ice at the words, but she keeps her face stern. "I am warned," she says.

"My lady?" The voice is quiet at her elbow. Basch.

"Yes, Captain?" Ashe replies.

"Quiet!" snaps a soldier as he joins the ranks surrounding them. More hard, armored hands grasp Ashe's upper arms and begin to drag her forward.

"My life is still forfeit for yours," Basch says before the Imperial shoves him roughly and orders him to be silent.

Ashe can no longer turn to face him. But now it does not matter. She cannot keep holding onto this anger, not when the future is likely to be uncertain and short. Walls around her heart may keep it from being injured, but the slow trickle of constant grudges and hate will poison it until it crumbles into dust.

She feels a tear slip past her resolve, and she lets it.

"I cannot rescue myself. Not this time. Perhaps not ever." She is nearly to the base of the stairs where the Judge stands. "But my loyal knight can. As will…my friends."

With a quick twist, Ashe wrenches her arm free of the soldiers' unsuspecting hands, long enough to pull the Dawn Shard from her pouch and throw it across the floor behind her. It skitters across the tile and comes to rest at Penelo's feet. The blonde girl, who is still unencumbered by guards, picks it up and dances sideways to avoid those who would take it from her.

A roar comes from beneath the Judge's helmet. "Your usefulness, Princess…has just come to an end!" A ball of reddish light begins to grow above his hand.

Ashe catches only a tiny glimpse of Basch's face before the Judge's magick spell turns everything to blood-red fire.

**x-x-x**

**VIII **  
**consequences**_  
- a bond is enlightened -_

_Now, now, Princess. That is _not _the way a lady conducts herself…herself…herself…_

Ashe's head is throbbing and her ears are ringing. A tinny imitation of Basch's words rattles around her mind. She is sprawled on the floor, metal by the cold feel of it, with no recollection of how she came to be there. With difficulty, Ashe lifts her head and inspects her surroundings.

They are, to put it simply, dismal.

It's not the level of cleanliness, which is impressive, or the minimal décor, which is elegant in its own way. As rooms go, it has potential.

Or would, if it were something other than a prison cell.

Slowly, Ashe pushes herself up to her knees. Bright lights stab at her eyes and she winces. Basch's voice has turned into shards of glass that clatter noisily inside her head.

Somehow, she manages to drag herself up onto the slab that could, with some imagination, be called a bed. Even the long trek through the desert, painful as it was, cannot compare with this. Ashe inspects her arms, her legs, somewhat surprised when she sees no bruises on the skin. She feels like...like she often did after Basch thoroughly defeated her in sword practice.

_What's happened here?_

Her memory is not gone – she can feel it pushing feebly at the haze that seems to cloud her mind – but it may as well be for all Ashe can remember right now. Trying only shatters the glass fragments in her head into even more pieces. So she gives up, but only for the moment. She has a feeling that the walls of her tiny prison will observe much of her thinking. With a sigh, Ashe pulls her knees up beneath her chin, rocking back and forth.

Waiting. Watching. But not thinking.

Thinking hurts.

_Now, now, Princess. That is not…_

"…how a lady should act," Ashe says out loud. Her voice sounds muffled against the cold walls. "I know. But I'm not a lady right now. I'm just a tired girl who wants to wake up at home with everything exactly as I remembered. I'm just a hopeless dreamer who wishes things could have happened differently."

A tear slides down her cheek, followed by another and another, until her cheeks are salty and wet and her jaw aches from holding her silence behind clenched teeth.

Ashe is still trying to decide whether she's angry or sad when she finally falls asleep.

It seems like only minutes later, but her achy body proves otherwise, when a loud hissing fills her ears and the seal on the door of her tiny prison cracks open. Ashe swings her legs over the side of the bed and sits up straight, folding her hands in her lap. She is a lady and a princess even when that's the last thing she wants to be, and will not give the arrogant Imperials the pleasure of seeing her crushed by circumstance. She lifts her chin slightly.

But it's not a Judge that walks through the door. It's not even one of the ubiquitous Imperial troops.

It is Basch fon Ronsenburg, battered and bruised, the scar on his forehead standing out starkly in a pale face. Ashe wonders sometimes, in unguarded moments, where it came from. Something tells her she probably doesn't want to know.

"Come, my lady," Basch beckons, holding out a hand to her. From the way his other hand is clutching the door frame, it's clear to Ashe that the captain has suffered far more than she. Unthinkingly, her hand comes up to her mouth.

The street rat pokes his head in under Basch's arm. "Come on, Princess!" he says. His voice, unlike Basch's, is full of tension and anxiety, which tells Ashe all she needs to know about the situation. She stands, locking her knees to keep herself upright as pins and needles stab her feet.

"What has become of the Dawn Shard?" she asks. Her voice cracks. Little fragments of memory are coming back now. Most of them are filled with the roaring red flame of magick, and Basch's face, and the small – so small, to cause all this trouble! – shard of nethicite in Penelo's hands.

A voice that must be Penelo's drifts in from the hallway as Ashe graciously accepts Vaan's outstretched hand and steps out of the cell. Basch lets the door hiss shut behind her. "The Judge must have it now. I'm sorry, Princess. I tried…"

Ashe summons what she hopes is a reassuring smile and turns it upon the young girl standing there. "You did what you might under the circumstances," she says. "I cannot ask more than that."

The sky pirate is standing a little way down the hall, gesturing impatiently. "They've activated the security systems," he calls, finger already resting inside the trigger guard of his gun. "We'll have to avoid them on the way out."

Abruptly, the whole ship pitches sideways before it rights itself. Ashe finds herself cradled in Basch's arms as they hit the wall. Her cheeks grow warm, especially when she looks up and meets his eyes. He gives her a small smile despite the pain she knows he must be feeling and lets go as soon as she stands steadily on her own feet again.

Chivalrous to the last.

"The Mist is growing hot," says the viera. Her eyes are somewhat clouded but her voice is sharp. "I fear the Judge and his curiosity may be our undoing."

"What do you mean?" Ashe asks, though she has a sinking feeling in her stomach that tells her the answer before Fran even responds.

"The nethicite. He craves it, covets its power. Should it prove too much for him to handle…"

"I understand," says Ashe. She does, and all too well. Too many people have suffered already for the stones – _Rasler, my dear Rasler, _Ashe thinks_ –_ too many have fallen victim to the lust for their power.

Somehow they reach the hangar bays in the cavernous belly of the _Leviathan, _though Ashe isn't quite sure how. She is tired, so tired, and emotionally shattered. People blur before her eyes, some with familiar faces and some with no faces at all behind their armored helmets. The world spins and shakes, and suddenly she finds herself flat on yet another metal floor. This time it's not a prison cell, but the floor of a small airship.

"My lady!" The voice is like balm to Ashe's ears. "Are you all right?" A strong arm cradles her head and helps her uncurl from her fetal position.

She answers, but her voice is weak and the sky pirate at the helm is cursing so bitterly that Ashe doubts anyone has heard her.

Penelo gives a little shriek. Ashe turns her head slightly to the side and sees Fran collapse limply against the wall. The blonde girl is instantly at her side. "Balthier! Get us out of here!"

"As you command!" he replies, though the sharp undertones in the teasing words tell Ashe just how dire the situation is.

There is a roaring from outside, counterpoint to Fran's howls. Penelo is literally holding her down now. "The Mist," says Penelo. "Whatever the Judge is doing –"

An explosion! The entire ship shakes violently. Metal shrieks and Ashe's stomach drops into infinity as it dives suddenly. Fran howls and then goes still and silent. Outside, there is nothing to see but flames.

"The _Leviathan," _says Basch. "It's gone."

Vaan streaks past them, heading aft.

"What are you doing?" cries Penelo, looking up from where Fran's head is now cradled in her lap.

"The Dawn Shard!" says the street rat, and disappears into the tiny hatchway.

"Can you get up, my lady?" Basch asks gently. How like him to notice that straining to see out the window has given Ashe a crick in her neck. He wraps a warm arm around her shoulders and supports her to the narrow bench along the wall.

"I wish you'd stop calling me _my lady_," she says, almost to herself. "You used to call me Ashe."

Basch sits next to her with a contemplative look on his face. "So I did," he says. "So I did."

**x-x-x**

**IX **  
**finale**_  
- a bond is indestructible -_

"Now, now, Princess. That is _not _how a lady conducts herself."

Ashe laughs, watching the little girl scamper across the warm stones of the palace plaza. The sun glints brightly off her golden hair as Basch sweeps her up into his arms. Despite the gray that crowns his head, his face is tanned and unlined as ever, his old strength undiminished. He spins the little girl around again and sets her down on her feet. Her laughter dances through the air. He smiles at her as she ignores his reprimand and runs off across the grass.

"Far too much like another princess at that age," Basch murmurs into Ashe's ear.

"I object to that statement," Ashe replies, but there's no sting in her words. She is swept backward in time, back to her own childhood. Precious memories, each one a jewel that catches the light, a flower of bright colors and fragrance, cherished fondly.

She sees herself running merrily on sun-warmed flagstones. The glint off the metal of Basch's sword, the way the handle felt in her tiny hand when she first tried to lift it. The aching bones and salty sting of the cuts inflicted on her by hours of practice, worth it because she'd finally landed a solid hit on Basch while sparring. The first meeting with the Nabradian delegation. The protection of a surrogate older brother and the love of a young prince.

Vaan and Penelo are heading toward her, she realizes with a start. Ashe's face softens into a smile as she looks at their golden-haired daughter, tired out from her exertions, nestled in the protective embrace of Vaan's arms .

"We take our leave, milady," Penelo says, giving Ashe a hug that belies the formality of the farewell.

"See you around, Ashe," Vaan says. Penelo throws him a mock-glare. Vaan gives his wife a saucy smile that reminds Ashe of the street rat he used to be.

Ashe smiles at them, raises her hand in farewell, watches them disappear down the path.

The peace that has been her companion in the many years since the destruction of the old Archadian Empire falters briefly. In unguarded moments such as these, it's still hard for Ashe to let go of what might have been.

Her kingdom might have known peace far sooner. She and Rasler might have grown old together, might have delighted in their own children playing on the grass and filling the air with giggles. The little golden-haired girl dancing with joyous delight in the strong rays of the sun might have been a princess in name and not just in endearment.

Unconsciously, Ashe twirls the golden ring she once again wears on her left hand, the metal smooth and burnished by the years.

Her heart might not have been broken many times over.

She doesn't cry. Too many years stand between her and the tumultuous events of the wartime for Ashe to feel more than a melancholic ache for what might have been. Time has done much to soothe the wounds inflicted on her spirit.

A warm presence moves up beside her, standing where he always has and always will. The only thing more immovable than the foundations of the earth is Basch fon Ronsenburg.

Together, they stand at the stone railing. The sun dips low into the sky, painting everything with shades of purple and gold.

Nothing needs to be said.

Because the strongest bonds leave pieces to pick up after they're broken.


End file.
